


The Angel Room: Makael Confronts Death

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Bunker Fic, Canon Compliant, Death's Reading Room, Episode: s14e11 Damaged Goods, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Ma'lak Box (Supernatural), Research, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, spellwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: Dean's leaving to go build the Ma'lak box, and Makael's running out of options in her quest to help him be free of Michael—and because she promised Dean she wouldn't tell anyone about the box, she can't enlist the others' help.Desperate times call for desperate measures: Makael decides it's time to conduct a one-person raid on Death's Reading Room.Author's note: This entry is set during the period leading into and during "Damaged Goods."





	The Angel Room: Makael Confronts Death

Makael is relieved when, after the birthday cleanup is complete, and due to the late hour, Sam forgets to have that conversation with her before he heads to bed. She hates not being able to tell him everything, and she doesn’t want to lie about why she was so upset. She hopes that, perhaps, with all the other, more important, things that they are focused on, he’ll end up completely forgetting about it.

That hope doesn’t make the pit in her stomach go away, though.

In the meantime, she’s reviewing all of her rapidly dwindling options for helping Dean. He’ll be leaving in just a few hours, without her. After he’s gone she’ll only have until he’s completed the box and driven to the coast to figure it out.

Knowing how Dean operates, that’s not going to be a lot of time. 

Her first priority, she decides, is to make sure she understands how the Ma’lak box works, and whether or not there might be any loopholes about opening it after he’s sealed himself inside.

The second priority … well, one step at a time.

While the others sleep—excluding Castiel, who’s puttering around somewhere in the Bunker—Makael heads to the archives, and starts pulling books from the shelves.

She’s waiting outside Dean’s bedroom door early the next morning, and he almost runs into her as he barrels out. Unlike yesterday, he’s wide awake, even before his first cup of coffee, all coiled tension and nervous energy.

“Hey,” he exclaims in surprise, managing to bring himself to a halt before the two of them collide. Then he narrows his eyes. “Were you out here waiting for me?”

Normally she’d make some sort of joke that he absolutely wouldn’t get about Castiel and  _ I’ll just wait here, then _ . Today, she simply says, “Yes.”

He scowls. “If this is about me changing my mind, I’m not, so you—”

“No,” she interjects. “I just want to see the notebook.” She lowers her voice. “The one Death left with you.”

Confusion flits across Dean’s face. “Why?”

“Because I want to understand how the box works,” she says, quietly.

Dean’s puzzled expression holds for a beat, and then he sighs. “You want to see if there’s a way to open it back up once I’m inside. Em—”

“Dean—”

He raises his voice slightly and keeps talking over her. “Once it’s shut, it’s shut. That’s kinda the whole deal. Nothing can get out. Whether it’s someone trying to open it from the inside  _ or _ the outside.”

Makael lifts her chin stubbornly. “I know that. I spent the night looking through all the materials that we have on Ma’lak boxes—but what we have only fills in some of the blanks. I took photos in case you need to take them with you,” she says, patting the pocket of her jeans, where her cell phone is tucked. She finally broke down and bought one (with Sam’s help in picking out a model) once she realized that, now, there were people in her life who might need to speak with her with some urgency. “But I assume Death’s book explains the rest.”

Dean gives her a long, silent look, but Makael meets his gaze, unflinching.

Finally, his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, shortly. “I’ll be grabbing the others, yeah, but I’m not taking that one with me.” 

“Why not?”

Dean looks mildly uncomfortable. 

“I … don’t like touching it,” he says. His fingers flex unconsciously at his sides.

Makael tilts her head. “Death’s fingerprints,” she murmurs. “Maybe you aren’t as oblivious to it as I thought.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “Anyway, I took notes that I’ll bring with me instead. Tried taking photos. They don’t turn out. So if you want it, you’ve got it—it’s behind the headboard of my bed. But I’m telling you: once the box shuts, it’s shut.”

Makael holds up her finger, motioning for him to stay put, and goes into his room. She wouldn’t put it past him to tell her that he’s leaving the book behind when he’s actually taking it with him, just to stop her from figuring out how to release him. As she approaches the headboard, however, she can feel Death’s power. She realizes he must have been stowing the notebook elsewhere before now. This is the first time she’s felt it in his room—and Castiel hasn’t mentioned anything about feeling something “off” anywhere in the Bunker. She puts her cheek against the wall and, sure enough, she can see the gleaming white lettering of the notebook’s spine in the shadows between the wall and the headboard. She quickly retrieves the slim volume and tucks it under her arm.

When she turns around, Dean’s standing in the doorway, a wry expression on his face. “Thought I might try to put one past you?” he says. He folds his arms across his chest, his mouth tipping up on one side. “You’re getting to know me too well.”

She smiles sweetly as she slips past him through the doorway. “I’ll just go put this someplace safe,” she says. “Coffee’s on, by the way,” she adds, looking back over her shoulder. “Made the way you like it.” Then she comes to a dead halt, and turns around to face him. “ _ Don’t  _ leave without saying goodbye,” she says, urgently.

Dean’s expression softens. “I won’t,” he says.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Makael is good at hiding things that she doesn’t want found. She’s learned a few tricks over the years that would make it difficult for even Castiel to find something she’s tucked away. Once the notebook is safely stowed, she makes her way to the kitchen. 

The others are already there. Sam’s been up for well over an hour, and said he’d make due with toast when she offered to make him something in addition to coffee. He’s already gone for a quick run, showered, shaved, and dressed for the day. Jack must have woken right about when Dean did. He’s still in his pj bottoms and a plain white tee, looking a little bleary as he adds extra cream and sugar to the Dean-strength coffee. 

She makes her way unobtrusively into the room. Dean’s reheating hashbrown bake in the microwave for the two of them, as Castiel fills him in on a potential lead about getting rid of Michael. Ketch emailed about it in the wee hours of the night, and Castiel wants to go investigate.

“Sounds good, Cas,” says Dean, distractedly, as he pulls the dish out of the microwave and begins spooning generous portions on the two plates he’s put out. “You should take Jack with you. It’d be good for him to get some more experience under his belt.”

Jack perks up from his seat at the kitchen table. “I’d like that,” he says.

“Would you like to come with us?” asks Castiel. “It’s a long shot, but—”

“I think I’ll stay here.” Dean doesn’t look at him as he grabs forks from the drawer. “Think it’d be smart to play it close to home right now.”

Castiel dips his head, but not before Makael sees the worry and sorrow on his face. “Of course, Dean,” he says.

“I’m gonna go back over some of the stuff that we have here,” says Sam, as Dean grabs the plates and forks and brings them over to the table, depositing one set in front of Jack, who promptly starts digging in. “We’ve learned a lot since we started our research, so looking at the stuff we hit early on with fresh eyes will probably be a good idea.” He keeps his tone light, but there’s strain in his voice. He’s trying to put a positive spin on the fact that they have nothing new or promising in the lore. Makael, however, can feel the frustration pouring off off him.

She offers him a smile, and says, “I’ll stay and help.”

Sam throws her a grateful look.

When breakfast is over, she and the others split up to go get ready for their days: Jack and Cas to pack for their trip, Sam to the library, Dean to “go work on stuff,” which Makael knows is a vague reference to putting things together for his upcoming departure. Sam asks Makael to take a look over a book that he’s read previously. 

“It’s mostly crap,” he tells her, “but who knows, there might be something important hidden in there that I missed.” 

Makael agrees to look through it, but declares that she’s going to go read in her room, “for a change of scenery.” Sam nods absently, already engrossed in the huge tome before him.

In truth, she’s hiding. She can’t handle the upcoming farewells as Castiel and Jack leave on their mission. She knows that if she has to watch Dean forcing casual goodbyes, when he knows damn well it’s probably for forever, it will break her—and she doesn’t want to give him away any more than she wants to see it. So she forces herself to sit, cross-legged, on her bed, to open the book Sam gave her, to read the words on the page. After a few pages, though, she’s shaking her head. Sam was right. Sure, the book has plenty of information about angels and archangels, but it’s all just plain  _ wrong _ . She looks again at the inscription, and finds it’s a copy of a work by an obscure Italian alchemist from the 1500s, who claimed he was visited by an angel that revealed the hidden secrets of the heavens to him. She wonders if he just decided to make everything up on his own, or if he was a victim of some kind of supernatural prank.

She pauses. Actually, she wouldn’t put it past Gabriel to appear to some lowly human and fill their head with this kind of drivel, just for kicks: an angel posing as a trickster posing as an angel. The more she thinks on it, the more it sounds exactly like something Gabriel would do—and find absolutely hilarious.

To keep herself occupied, she grabs a pencil from the desk in the corner and starts making notes in the margins, correcting the errors and adding commentary of her own. Who knows—in the future, this might come in handy for someone else.

_ It just won’t be Dean Winchester _ , her mind supplies, cruelly. 

The pencil snaps.

“Stop it,” she tells herself, tossing the pencil in the trash and getting to her feet to find another as she blinks back tears. 

When she’s seated again, she keeps reading. Sam’s got a good point—even if this book is full of nonsense, there might be some useful tidbit of information tucked away in the midst of it all. And right now, they can’t afford to overlook  _ anything _ . 

She’s itching to get started on Death’s book, but she forces herself to wait. It would be just like Sam to burst into her room with a random question, and then innocently ask, “What’s that?” if she pulls it out now. She’ll wait until tonight, when he’s sleeping.

Castiel and Jack stop by to say goodbye. She hugs them both, plastering a smile on her face, and is intensely grateful that Dean isn’t with them.

For a while after they leave, she’s successful at engrossing herself in her corrections. By the time she’s gotten to the fifth chapter, she’s gone back to the title page and added, beneath the author and editor’s names,  _ with corrections by the seraph Makael, formerly of the heavenly choir, January 2019.  _ She allows herself a small blip of humor as she imagines some hunter centuries from now opening the book at reading that inscription.

“Em?” 

Makael’s stomach drops. She looks up from the book, leaving the pencil in it to mark her place.

Dean’s standing in the doorway, a heavy-looking duffle thrown over one shoulder. He’s wearing a red button up, which makes her think of last night’s decorations. 

Those celebrations feel like they happened a lifetime ago.

“Dean.” 

She finds that she can’t get anything out past his name as he hovers uncertainly in the doorway.

“Look, Em,” he says, awkwardly, “I don’t wanna drag this out—”

He stops as she launches herself from the bed and throws her arms around him in a desperate hug.

“I’m going to fix this,” she says, fiercely. 

“Em—”

“I am  _ going to fix this _ ,” she says again. “So you go ahead and build that box, Dean Winchester, but you are not going to get into it.”

He lets out a soft huff of air. “Okay, Em,” he says, quietly. Then he winces. “Too tight, too tight,” he chants, and lets out a relieved sigh when she lets go.

“Look, uh, I have a request,” he says. He starts to say something, and then stops, swallowing hard while Makael looks up at him. He starts over. “ _ If _ I do end up getting in that box … look after Sammy for me?” He’s blinking rapidly and his voice is gruff with emotion. “He, uh, sometimes doesn’t do too good when I’m not around, and, I don’t know if you realize this, but, he likes you—”

“Of course I know that he likes me,” she says, frowning. “You all do. That’s why you let me stay here.”

“Ha, uh, right,” says Dean, looking away and smiling faintly. “Well, anyway, you may end up being one of the only people who can get through to him, and he’ll need you, if—”

“That’s not going to happen, Dean,” says Makael, but when she sees the urgency in his green eyes, she adds, “but if it does, I’ll look after him for you. I promise.”

“Thank you.” He pulls her in for another quick hug, and then he lets her go, stepping back into the hallway. “I’m gonna go tell Sam I’m heading out.” He takes a breath. “I’ll … I’ll see you around.”

Makael feels sick, but she forces herself to nod. “Okay, Dean. Drive safe.”

He gives her a lopsided smile. “Safe?” he asks. “Uh, yeah. Badass Impala driver, here.”

It’s a dumb exchange, but both of them know what’s going unsaid, and why neither of them could possibly say anything more. She watches him walk down the length of the hallway, memorizes his silhouette, his long stride, the way he hitches up one shoulder to balance the weight of the duffle. Then he rounds the corner, and is gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s less than half an hour before Sam shows up at her bedroom door.

“Hey, Makael?” he says. His brow is scrunched, and the corners of his eyes are tight. 

She puts aside her pencil, and counsels herself that throwing up in front of Sam right now would not be advisable, no matter what the pit in her stomach is telling her. She raises her eyebrows inquiringly.

“Did you know that Dean was planning on going to Mom’s?” 

“He just stopped by to say goodbye,” she replies, carefully, in a not-answer.

He’s distracted by whatever warning sirens are going off in his internal-brother-alarm, because he doesn’t pick up on it. He just nods and chews on his lower lip for a second. “He was acting … strange when he headed out,” says Sam. “And he _ just  _ told Cas and Jack that he wanted to stay close to home during breakfast.”

“Well, I’m sure staying with your mom is almost like being home,” offers Makael, “and much less stressful than going out in the field.”

Sam mulls that over. “True,” he says with a reluctant shrug. “It’s just … he didn’t say anything to you, did he?”

“To keep an eye on you while he’s gone,” she says, truthfully. “I think he worries that you don’t take good enough care of yourself when you’re in research mode.” Which is something Dean  _ has  _ said to her—just not in the context of their most recent conversation.

She hates not being able to be honest with him. She wishes she’d never promised Dean she wouldn’t tell the others.

Sam scoffs lightly. “So says my brother, who thinks bacon is what’s for breakfast every day.” He sighs. “All right. I … I think I’ll just check in with Mom, too, to be sure.”

Makael nods, and he turns and leaves the doorway.

She waits several seconds as she listens to his retreating footsteps, then lets out a long, shaking breath.

It doesn’t take him long to discover the missing books. And his phone call with Mary doesn’t end up reassuring him one bit. He frets and paces and second-guesses himself for hours, and Makael feels more and more guilty with each passing second.

Finally, she approaches him in the library. 

“Go,” she says. “If you’re this worried, you should go.”

Maybe she can’t tell him what Dean is up to, but she  _ can  _ urge him to go to his brother. 

“I dunno, Em. He said he really wants to spend one-on-one time with Mom,” says Sam, pushing his hand through his hair before he scrubs his jaw. “And I mean, I get that. I really do. We had such a rocky start, and things are good with her right now, but—”

“He’ll deal. Go. I’ll man things here while you’re gone.”

Sam stops pacing, lets out an explosive breath. “Okay,” he says. “You sure?”

She nods, fighting to keep her expression neutral.

“Okay. Then I’ll go.” He turns, starts for the door to the right of the telescope, then pauses and turns back. He gives her a faint smile. “Thanks, Em,” he says.

She smiles back, even as she’s internally self-flagellating over her lack of honesty about what’s really going on.  

~*~*~*~*~*~

She gives Sam a little wave as the Blue Mercury Cougar Eliminator (dubbed “Blue Baby” by fans, which normally would have her smiling to herself) revs its way out of the garage, her free arm clasped protectively around her middle. She’s not sure he even notices—he’s that focused on getting to Dean. 

As the garage door closes behind him, she turns and walks back into the Bunker proper. She has her own things that she needs to focus on. And the prospect of  _ doing  _ something is the only thing that’s keeping her together right now.

Four hours later, she pushes back from the table in the library with something like despair. She stares down at the open notebook in front of her blankly.

Dean was right.

Once it’s shut, it’s shut. There aren’t any loopholes—no way to open up the Ma’lak box again once it’s closed.

She shakes her head. “There are  _ always  _ loopholes,” she mutters, fiercely. “Always.”

She flips back through her copious notes—she started off by basically transcribing the whole damn thing, because she doesn’t trust that she’ll always have access to it. Supernatural items often have a habit of disappearing when you need them most. But after poring back over everything, she still can’t see any way around the spellwork. And she knows, without pride, that she’s good at coming up with innovative ideas when it comes to magic. 

It appears that the reputation Ma’lak boxes have for being the strongest magical containers in the universe is well-deserved.

“Fine,” she says, with a sigh. “Plan B.”

She was really hoping that she wouldn’t have to try Plan B.     

Soon, she’s gathered all the ingredients she’ll need and made the final tweaks to the spell. She sits cross-legged on her bed as she paints the last of the sigils on her skin in her own blood—sigils, she hopes, that will render her invisible to anything that might notice her presence. 

When the blood dries she tugs on a long-sleeved shirt, effectively hiding the sigils from sight. Then she grabs a pestle and begins dumping the ingredients she needs in a bowl, carefully measuring amounts as she goes. This spell requires precision. She’s never tried it before—and where she wants to go is heavily warded against intruders, even angelic ones. Figuring out how to break in hasn’t been easy. She’s been working on this for weeks, just in case—so she wouldn’t end up completely without options. 

She finishes the incantation, sets a match to the bowl, and watches as green and blue flames scorch the air, almost ceiling high. She picks up the journal and passes it through the flames before they die down, holding her breath as she does so. This was the other reason she needed Death’s book: sympathetic magic—something from the place you need to go to help you open the way there.   

The slim volume comes through unscathed, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She was ninety-nine percent sure that it wouldn’t catch fire, but that one percent chance had her really worried. She wasn’t sure what Death’s reaction would be if she found out Makael had burnt one of her notebooks.

The fire subsides, and she sets the book aside as the air at the foot of her bed shimmers.

She takes a deep breath as she slips off the mattress. 

She could get in so much shit for this.

Steeling herself, she steps into the shimmering air, and disappears from the room.

   ~*~*~*~*~*~

She stumbles when she lands on the other side, and it takes a moment to orient herself.

Her eyes widen as she looks about the space—gleaming black floors, ceilings so high she almost can’t make them out, and row upon row of black library stacks, their pristine grey shelving covered neatly in black notebooks—each set of notebooks illuminated from above by crisp white lights.

Death’s Reading Room.

Makael shivers. 

She hates the veil. It’s chockablock full of angry, confused human souls who have refused to move on—and Reapers. Sure, Reapers are nice and fluffy and sweet with the good human souls in their charge, delivering them safely into heaven and Naomi’s care. But angels? Angels they toss, screaming, out into The Empty. She’d much rather avoid any and all Reapers, if possible.

Hence, the sigils painted onto her skin.

She looks at the illuminated white letters marking the end of the stacks: “U.” 

Right block, wrong street. She starts walking.

Time moves differently in the veil. She’s not sure how long she paces the length of the Reading Room, her feet quiet on the floor, her reflection in it pristine. Eventually, she passes the “V’s.” Finally, she hits the “W’s.” And then she has to move past the all the names that come before “Winchester.” She stops frequently and checks what’s inscribed in white on the black spines of the books. It might be minutes, or days, or hours, before she finally spots what she’s been searching for. 

Makael doesn’t trust Death. Billie may say she’s gained a new perspective with her promotion, but she’s never been a fan of the Winchesters. They killed her boss, threw the veil into chaos, and left all the Reapers scrambling. Even with order restored, now that Billie’s in charge, they’re continually messing up her “clean hands” approach—Sam and Dean have been breaking the rules about life and death for over a decade, and aren’t exactly going to stop now. In short, the two of them are a giant pain in her ass. 

Makael wouldn’t put it past Billie to lie to Dean, just to take him off the board permanently. 

It’s a little too perfect, really, the out she’s given him to save the world from Michael. He’ll never die in the Ma’lak box. He’ll just be trapped there, forever—and Billie will never have to deal with him again. Life, death—he’ll hang between both for eternity, unable to affect … anything. 

Makael rubs her palms nervously down the front of her jeans as she stands in front of the first stack of notebooks that bear Dean’s name. Gingerly, she reaches out and picks up the top one. The feeling of Death’s energy jolts down her arms all the way to her toes, leaving goosebumps in its wake that have nothing to do with cold. 

She rolls her shoulders to shake off the sensation, then opens the notebook, flipping through to the last few pages.

_ Michael breaks loose. Dean ends. So does the world. _

Makael scowls as she puts the slim volume back and grabs the next one.

The details are different, but the ending is the same:  _ Michael breaks loose. Dean ends. So does the world. _

She throws it back onto the shelf, and grabs the next one. And the next one. And the next one.

_ They all end the same. _

“No,” she whispers. She moves to the shelf beneath the first one, tears through the stack of notebooks there.  _ Same ending.  _ She moves to the next bookcase over, goes through all the shelves within reach. She finds a rolling ladder one row over, brings it over to the bookcase she’s checking, climbs all the way to the top as she goes through each shelf.

_ Same thing: Michael breaks loose. Dean ends. So does the world. _

Makael sets her jaw. Fine. That’s fine. She’ll go through every damn one before she gives up.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the cool, jet-black floor, has just tossed yet another notebook aside to join the stack of discarded volumes she’s looked through, when a rich, cool voice breaks the oppressive silence.

“You’ve been spending too much time with the Winchesters, little seraph.” 

Makael starts, looks up to meet Death’s impassive dark gaze. She’s leaning a hip against the end of the row of shelves, her long black coat skimming the floor. Billie flicks her eyes to the chaos of the shelves that Makael’s already gone through in her search.

“Look at the mess you’ve made of my reading room,” she says in a chill drawl. Her eyes slide back to Makael. “I hate messes.”

Makael closes her eyes briefly, her stomach sinking. She is in so much shit.

Slowly, she puts aside the notebook she was skimming and rises to her feet.

“How did you know I was here?” she asks, trying to fake a nonchalance that she absolutely does not possess.

Billie smiles thinly at her—which is something of a feat, given the lush curves of her lips. “Those sigils of yours might hide you from a Reaper, but not from me.” She takes a step forward, tips her head and narrows her eyes at Makael. “Arrogant of you to assume they would.” 

Makael plants her feet and tips her chin defiantly up at the taller woman. “Desperate,” she says, firmly but quietly, “not arrogant. How long have you known I was here?”

“Since the moment you arrived. You know that angels are forbidden from this place without the express permission of God himself. And since God’s not around …” She lets the rest of the sentence trail off. “I would have been well within my rights to toss you out—and  _ not  _ back to earth, seraph.” The menace of that hang in the air between them for a long moment, and Makael is shaking internally by the time Billie adds, “I just wanted to see what it was that you were trying to do, first.” Her eyes are like dark mirrors, reflecting Makael back to herself—impossible to read.  

“Not exactly fair, that you can hide yourself from me but I can’t hide myself from you,” says Makael, with forced lightness.

“ _ Life _ ain’t fair, kid. Why should Death be?” Billie cocks one elegantly arched brow, before she continues, bluntly, “You thought I was lying to Dean about his books.”

Makael swallows. “Yes.”

“I’m actually surprised that the same thought didn’t cross his mind. Interesting that a Winchester trusts me more than one of my cousins.”

Makael scowls. “We are  _ not  _ cousins.”

Death laughs. The sound is rich and full of … life. It’s jarring. “You keep telling yourself that, seraph.”

“The name is Makael.” Her voice is tight, even to her own ears. She wishes she could exude the relaxed confidence of Billie—but then again, Billie doesn’t have to worry about Makael throwing  _ her  _ into The Empty if she says the wrong thing.

“I know.” Billie’s tone is dry. “Or have you forgotten that I have my Reapers keeping a twenty-four-seven eye on the Winchesters?”

Actually, she sort of had.

“You’re almost as bad as they are,  _ Em _ .” The nickname has bite, and Makael flinches involuntarily. “All that slipping between worlds, like it’s nothing? You’ve seen firsthand what can come through those doorways. Hell, you ran from this entire universe because of what the Winchesters brought here.”

“They didn’t bring Michael here. He found his own way across,” says Makael, defensively. 

“Tomato, tomahto,” drawls Billie. “You’re smarter than that. And yet, you’ve been making trips to another universe to order  _ birthday presents  _ for Dean.” Her lip curls in a sneer, and she takes another step forward, making Makael shrink back. “You’re becoming something of a menace to the order of things, Makael.” 

Billie’s gaze is considering, and that consideration locked upon her is absolutely fucking terrifying.

Makael swallows again, forces herself to stop retreating. She squares her shoulders. Best defense is a good offense. She’s learned that during her time with the Winchesters. “Yeah, well, we’re not here to talk about me,” she says. “We’re here to talk about Dean.”

“… what about him?”

“Isn’t it just a little too perfect that the only way out for him, the only way for him to stop Michael, is for him to go do something that will keep your hands clean of the Winchester mess  _ forever _ ? Cause it seems that way to me. Too neat. Too tidy.” She’s surprised at the heat in her own voice. Even more surprised that she’s taken a step forward, closer to Billie.

Billie lets out an amused huff of air. “You think I came up with the Ma’lak box just to get him out of my hair?” She pauses, looks thoughtfully into the middle distance. “I mean, the idea is appealing, now that you put it that way. But no.” Her eyes refocus on Makael. “I didn’t lie to Dean. All of the notebooks end the same way. You’ve seen that. You’re seeing that right now.”

“ _ I don’t trust you _ ,” says Makael, through clenched teeth. “You could be holding back information about ways to open the Ma’lak box once it’s closed. You could be holding back other ways to stop Michael, ones that don’t end in the world burning.”

Billie’s face remains smooth, expressionless, except for the slight tilt to her head. “And why would I do that?” she asks.

“Because you’ve always despised the Winchesters! First, because the old Death indulged them so much—later because they kept messing up the supposed order of things. Well, guess what,  _ Billie _ ?” She bites off the former Reaper’s name, just like Billie did with hers. “The universe isn’t orderly, any more than it is fair. It’s messy. The Winchesters just exacerbate what’s already fucking  _ there. _ And if Fate couldn’t get a handle on them, why do you think you should?” 

Billie lips turn down slightly at the corners. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I don’t write what’s in these notebooks. They just  _ are _ —what’s there is there. If I wanted to hold something back from Dean, I wouldn’t have given it to him in the first place.” She pauses. “In other words, no, there is no way to open the Ma’lak box once it’s closed. It’s the one thing in this universe—even moreso than The Empty, apparently—that nothing comes back from.” She pauses again, looking Makael square in the eye. “I have nothing to hide, Makael—not about the box, not about the books. You could look through each and every shelf, each and every volume here—it would just be more of the same.”

Makael’s stares and stares, feeling as if the air was just sucked from her lungs.  

Death isn’t lying to her. There’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago, and … and something like pity. Her voice is almost gentle when she says, “Dean Winchester can’t be saved. You need to accept that.” 

She’s shaking her head before Billie’s even stopped speaking. “I can’t,” she says. “I  _ won’t _ . There’s always another way. Another out. A loophole.”

“The only other way is the end of the world,” says Billie. Her tone is even, relentless. “The Ma’lak box  _ is  _ the loophole.”

But there was something— _ something _ in her eyes in that first part. A flicker in those liquid dark pools as she spoke. Makael hones in on it, like a hawk catching the movement of a mouse in the grass.

“There’s something else,” she breathes, and finds herself taking another step forward. “Something you aren’t telling me. Something you didn’t tell Dean.” She lets out a soft noise of excitement, of hope. “What is it?”

Billie tips her head back, briefly, lets out a sigh. “Too damn perceptive,” she murmurs. 

“What is it?” asks Makael again, insistently.

“I don’t answer to you.” Billie’s voice is like steel.

“No, you don’t, but you’re going to have to throw me into The Empty to get me to shut up, to stop pestering you,” says Makael, full of false bravado. “And if you try, I will fight you until my last breath.  _ I need to know _ .”

There’s a moment of icy silence, and then Billie laughs in disbelief. “My Reapers told me how scrappy you’d become. Did you really fight Dean thinking he was Michael? After running away to an entirely different universe to escape his notice in the first place?”

Makael flushes. She’s still more than a little embarrassed over her mistake. “Yes,” she mutters.

“And here I thought they were exaggerating.”

Makael decides that Billie’s thoughtful look is just as terrifying as her considering one.

“You’re right,” Billie says, finally, in a soft voice. “There  _ is  _ one other way. But there’s a reason I didn’t show it to Dean. A good one.”

Makael shakes her head. “I need to know,” she whispers.

“It will break your heart, little seraph,” says Death, quietly.

Makael swallows, hard. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “I still need to know.”

Billie gives her a long look, but Makael manages to hold her gaze. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” she says. She reaches into her jacket pocket, pulls out another volume. For a moment, Makael wonders if she’s imagining things, but then she realizes that this one is slightly thicker than the others. “Start in the middle,” says Billie as she hands the notebook to Makael.

Makael opens to the middle of the book, and starts reading. A couple of pages in, she lets out a relieved breath.

“This—this is good,” she says. “This is amazing! Why wouldn’t you want Dean to—”

“Keep reading,” says Billie.

In confusion, Makael lowers her head to the page. She finishes it, turns to the next one.

She goes very, very still. Then she raises questioning eyes to Death. Billie silently motions for her to return to the book.

A couple of pages more, and Makael’s shaking. “No,” she whispers. “This is …” She looks up at Billie again, unable to process what’s in front of her eyes.

“Keep reading,” urges Billie, gently.

Two pages on, and tears are running down Makael’s face. 

“It’s worse,” she gasps. “How can it be worse?”

Billie doesn’t answer, and Makael keeps reading, keeps crying silent, shaking tears. When they would have dripped onto the pages, however, they evaporate the instant before they hit the heavy paper—keeping the handwritten script pristine.

She barely notices. 

Barely notices when there are no more pages to turn, and Death quietly removes the volume from between her numb fingers.

Billie’s voice is compassionate when she says, “I told you it would break your heart. His, too. That’s why I didn’t show it to him. It all ends the same, anyway. They have a little more time, but … it ends the same.” 

Makael blinks, trying to clear her tear-stained vision. “It … it has to be the box,” she says in a hoarse voice.

Billie nods, once. 

She’s so beautiful and serene that for a second, Makael hates her. But she can’t hold onto it in the face of her grief. She wraps her arms around herself, and sobs. “ _ Fuck _ ,” she whispers. “It has to be the box.”

“Yes,” says Billie. “But you can’t tell them why, Makael. I broke the rules, giving the notebook to Dean. Letting people know their fates? It’s a tricky thing. Tends to backfire. I only showed Dean because I knew how stubborn he is when it comes to saving people. How stubborn he’d be if he knew it was going to save the whole damn world. But knowing this? Any of them? The repercussions could be … unexpected. Cosmic.”

She takes a step forward, reaches out toward Makael, and brushes the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. “The only person who can stop him from going in the box is Sam. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Makael nods, silently. She’d expected a similar sensation to that when she touched the books, but Billie’s hand is merely smooth and warm against her skin as she moves it to Makael’s other cheek. “I … I understand.”

Billie takes a step back. “I’m glad you came, Makael,” she says.

“I’m not.”

Billie gives a low, wry chuckle. “Mm, that’s usually the way of things around here,” she says. “Perspective isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.” She smiles at Makael. “Go home, cousin,” she murmurs, and pushes her hand through the still air between them, and— 

—and Makael stumbles backward, the backs of her knees colliding with her mattress, knocking her into an undignified heap on top of it. Her ears pop, and she’s breathing hard as she stares at the ceiling of her bedroom, like a horse at the end of a race. She stays that way for a long time before her breathing calms and the tears stop leaking from her eyes. Finally, she sits up. She reaches for her cell phone, scrolls through her saved contacts, hits Sam’s number.

He picks up after five rings. 

“Sam?” she says, before he can say anything. “I—I think I might’ve been wrong. I think maybe you should come back—”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Sam’s voice is hard, the edge in it biting into her like a blade.

“Knew what?” she falters.

“You knew about the Ma’lak box. About Dean’s plan. About all of it.”

It’s only then that Makael looks at the clock on her bedside table and realizes that she’s been gone for hours. It’s already early the next morning.

More than enough time for Sam to get to Donna’s cabin. To figure out what’s going on.

“Say something.” Sam’s voice cracks like a whip into the drawn-out silence.

Makael swallows queasily. She wants to explain, to make him understand, but all that comes out is a choked sounding, “I did. I knew.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” His scorn is palpable, even through the phone. “I’d expect that of my brother, Makael, but not from you. You’re supposed to be a friend, to be an ally.”

Mary’s words from a few months ago drifts back through Makael’s memory:  _ Because if you’re holding back crucial information from us, then you are _ not _ our ally, which is the opposite of what Sam keeps insisting.  _ Her fingernails bite painfully into her palms.

“I am, Sam—”

“We let you into our home, Makael. Into our family. And  _ this  _ is what you do? You hide this from me? Keep  _ this  _ a secret?”

“Sam—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” Sam sucks in a breath, and even though Makael thinks she’s expecting the worst, she’s doesn’t anticipate what comes next. “I am going with my brother on this insane suicide mission of his. I’m going to stop him, somehow. And when  _ we  _ get back, Makael? I want you gone.”

Makael’s never heard Sam’s voice sound so cold. For a second, she can’t breathe. 

By the time she can say anything, the line’s clicked dead. 

**END SCENE.**

**Author's Note:**

> So. Oof. This ended up being heavy on the feels. I’m one of those wimpy writers who hates to put characters through this kind of confrontation, but I’ve been feeling like this was coming for a while, and … here we are.
> 
> Just a few story notes on this one:
> 
>   1. I know that for budgeting sake, Castiel and Jack can’t be in every episode, but I found it disconcerting that we didn’t get to see any kind of goodbye between them and Dean before he left to go build the Ma’lak box in “Damaged Goods.” So, even though it’s still “offscreen” here because Makael can’t deal, I wanted to explain why they weren’t around in the Bunker when Dean was saying goodbye to Sam. Hence, the email from Ketch and the longshot lead. And I think, emotionally, Dean would have an easier time of them leaving him than of him leaving them, which is why he encouraged them both to go investigate. 
>   2. I also found it strange that nobody questioned Billie in regards to the notebook—especially Dean (he questions everything). To be fair to her as a character, she’s never lied to them. But she _has_ withheld information from them. She refused to let Dean know whether or not his mom was alive in “Advanced Thanatology,” and wouldn’t explain to him what kind of “work” he and Sam were meant to be alive to do. So I’ve been planning on doing this confrontation between Makael and Death for a while—and in the end we find out that no, she hasn’t lied, but she has been holding something back (what is it???), so I think it is pretty in character for her. I hope you enjoyed that whole scene! I seriously love Billie. She is always SO OVER the Winchester shit and it makes me smile every time.
>   3. Sometimes, it’s the little things that you end up having the most fun with. I have a background in late medieval/early renaissance literature, so I always have fun imagining all the old books that the Winchesters have access to. Also, alchemists in general from that era were batshit about so much freaking stuff, so I find them hugely entertaining. Anyway, I had way too much fun making up a book by an alchemist and having Makael theorize about Gabriel’s involvement, and having her mark everything up with her notes. A part of me now really wants that book, even though it’s not real lol!
>   4. I also had some fun in this entry with echoes and inversions. So, the red of Dean’s shirt (which is what he actually wore in “Damaged Goods”) echoing the reds of the decorations from the party the night before, but that only serving to underscore the difference between last night and today. The echo of Mary’s words to Makael during their interview underscoring Sam’s sense of betrayal. The inversion of Dean revealing that Sam … well, _likes_ Makael early in the story, and Sam’s demand that she leave at the end. The inversion between Billie’s cold and threatening demeanor at the beginning of her interaction with Makael, and her compassion and pity at the end. The inversion between Makael’s mission for the past several entries—to keep Dean out of the box—and her realization at the end that the box is the only solution. (As an English lit person I get way too excited about these things and needed to share here.)
> 

> 
> That’s it! Hope you enjoyed! We’ll see where this all goes next. 


End file.
